Sick Days
by The Lady Elizabeth
Summary: House is striken with a wide array of medical problems, which he plays up for all it's worth, and Cuddy decides to nurse him back to health personally.
1. The Problem of Calling In Sick

**Chapter 1: The Problem of Calling In Sick**

It was starting out all wrong. His leg was throbbing and screaming before he had even really woke up. His stomach felt tight and uncomfortable. God, was it _hot_!

Throwing off the sheet that had tangled around his waist while he had slept fitfully, Greg House managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed. He waited. He was still half asleep and his leg, he knew, was threatening mutiny if he tried to put weight on it. So, he sat there for a few minutes, trying to wake up his sleepy brain and steel himself against the inevitable pain he would feel when he decided to get finally stand.

It wouldn't have been quite so bad if it hadn't been for the fact that as soon as he stood, House _knew_ he had caught a case of the flu from his clinic patient who had been coughing up a lung a few days ago. Unsteady, he swayed on his feet and clutched the bedpost for support. His head was now swimming with dizziness, he could feel sweat beading on his forehead, and now his stomach was beginning to churn like he had eaten a hotdog at a traveling carnival. It was safe to say that he felt like complete crap.

Making his way to bathroom, House was suddenly forced to clap his hand over his mouth as his stomach decided now was the time to empty itself. By the time he got to the toilet, most of the contents of his stomach were in his hand. He leaned over the porcelain bowl, coughing and gagging as he grabbed a wad of toilet paper to wipe himself up a little. He stumbled to the sink after flushing everything away, ran the hot water, then looked up into the mirror. He was not pleased.

His face was pale and sweaty, his eyes bloodshot, and his mouth hung open in a dazed fashion that was usually sported by his clinic patients. Well, it was true. He was sick.

After washing up, a task which would've been easier had he not had a second bout of vomiting in the shower, House staggered back into his bed. He closed his eyes for moment, intending only to rest a bit before calling Cuddy to tell her he was dying and could she please save any interesting cases for when he was alive again?

He was startled to hear the phone ring. After letting it ring a few times, he scooped it up and pressed it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"House, where _are _you? Your team is wandering around because you're not here to bully them around." It was Cuddy. "You're not playing hooky are you? Because I can totally dump more clinic hours on you if you are."

House blinked. "My God, Cuddy. I'm not even supposed to be in yet! At least wait until I actually need to be at work before you tear me a new one."

"It's 1:30!"

House scrambled at the bedside table, tugging the alarm clock onto the bed. It read 1:32 pm. His mouth hung open.

"1:32?" he asked.

Cuddy was quiet for a moment. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," House started to sit up, but changed his mind when his stomach threatened to rebel again. "I think I've caught the flu. I woke up, threw up, then got back into bed." He could almost see the disproving frown on Cuddy's face. "I was going to call."

"All right, but do you realize how backed up we are?"

"I could throw up on some them," he volunteered.

"Thanks, anyways. How's the leg?"

"I have the flu."

"I… yes, I know. Do you need anything?"

House moaned. "No, thanks, Mom. I think I'm good."

He could hear her mouth part into a smile. "Well, get your butt here tomorrow. Unless you plan on passing your plague to everyone else."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Goodbye."

"Yep."

House pressed the off button on the phone, then pressed his hand against his forehead. He was burning up. He could barely think straight and he knew he needed a Vicodin, but he couldn't remember where he had left them last. His coat pocket? On the kitchen table, maybe. Of course, he couldn't exactly look for them while he couldn't even make it to the bathroom without puking.

He shifted his weight so that he could lie on his good side. It had him dizzy again and once more he began to murmur vehement curses at the free clinic. He would've said them louder, only he didn't quite have the strength for that.

Time faded out once more. He was barely aware of the sun setting or the way the noise level grew when school let out and when it shrank when it was dinnertime. The alarm clock glowed toxic green in the hushed bedroom. He felt nausea rise up inside of him several more times, but managed to clench his jaw and set his mind to keeping everything down. His body was drenched in sweat, but he couldn't even imagine getting up to change his clothes.

He didn't even notice the sound of keys scraping at the lock on his front door or the sound of the door swinging open and being shut tight again. He only became aware of things when he heard his voice being called. He managed to open one to see a woman's face floating in front of him. Her eyes were concerned.

"House? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he coughed. "Just the flu…"

The woman never answered. Well, she might have, he conceded, but he never heard anything. He started to slip back into his fever hazed sleep as a rough washcloth began to wipe against his forehead and cheeks. He tried to groan and swipe it away, but he could barely turn his head from the offending cloth.

"Stop."

"Be quiet."

He opened his eyes, but wasn't able to focus on the woman. He squinted a couple times, then gave up. She said something else, but he didn't care. Unconcerned with what happened to him, House slipped down into a troubled sleep.


	2. Of Awkward Dreams and Lorazepam

**Chapter 2: Of Awkward Dreams and Lorazepam**

_House looked around curiously. With no memory as to how he had got there, he was standing in the middle of Cuddy's office. Without his cane and, even more curiously, without pants. He rubbed the hem of his boxers between two fingers, wondering if he was drunk. He didn't feel drunk, but then again, not even he was going to stand around the Dean of Medicine's office in his underwear. Especially when Cuddy wasn't even there._

_"What are you doing now?" a tired voice asked._

_House jumped as Cuddy brushed past him, arms full of messy looking charts. He hadn't even heard the door open. She dropped the heavy stack unceremoniously onto her desk before raising her eyebrows at him._

_"Well?"_

_"Uh… waiting for you?" he tried. Cuddy sighed impatiently._

_"That's it?"_

_"What?"_

_"You're standing in your underwear, in my office, and all you have to say is that you're waiting for me?"_

_"Yes?"_

_Suddenly, Cuddy was in front of him. Her lips were inches from his own and he could smell the morning cup of coffee she had every day. Once again, he couldn't explain it. One moment, she was at her desk, the next she was painfully close to him. House would've commented on this, except for the fact that her fingernails were scraping lightly down the front of his t-shirt and he was alarmingly lost for words._

_"Don't tell me you've been waiting for me," she whispered and House almost whimpered as her hands suddenly gripped his hips and pulled him very close indeed. "Because I have been waiting for you every minute since the day I hired you. All you had to do was say something."_

_"Cuddy…"_

_"Yes, House?" Her voice was coarse with lust and he did whimper as she sunk to her knees in front of him, nails scraping down the sides of his legs. "Just say it."_

_"Lisa… I…"_

"House, shut up already."

House awoke with start, very aware of the fact that his heart was pounding frantically in his chest. He scrambled to figure out where exactly he was. Gray-white walls, massive glass windows...

"You talk constantly, even in your sleep. I can't believe I never noticed that before. I think I've finally figured out the _most_ annoying about you."

Wilson. He turned his head to see the oncologist sitting next to him, balancing what looked like a Caesar salad on his knees. Wilson smiled warmly and House suppressed a gag. He must really be sick to be getting the "I care about you" smile from Wilson. Not that this was a rare smile from Wilson, but House had known- and annoyed- him for long enough that he didn't often see that smile directed at him.

"Get over it," he mumbled, beginning to work on rearranging his bedding. It was uncomfortably tight. House was tempted to ask if Wilson secretly snuck in at night to make the hospitals. He certainly remembered the night when Wilson had made his bed. Wilson had sported a curiously cane-shaped bruise on his shin for nearly two weeks.

"How are you feeling?"

"Why don't you ever just say something like 'you look like shit' or 'you were hit by a Mack truck, but we managed to find most of the pieces?'"

Wilson shrugged, speared a wad of lettuce and tomato, and shoved it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully.

"Because you hold all of the pessimism allotted for this hospital? I'd be going over our allotted quota is I said something like that."

"And, you're too damn nice," House pointed out, then groaned. The look of immediate concern on Wilson's face made him want to chase him out of the room with his cane, but he felt far too sick to even try. Instead, he settled for shifting uneasily in his bed.

"What hurts?"

House groaned again, this time a little louder, attempting to pretend to be milking his pain. Maybe then Wilson wouldn't be quite so attentive.

"Everything," he explained broadly, flinging his arm over his forehead. He could see Wilson raise an eyebrow out of the corner of his eye. "I think I'm probably dying."

"Well, of course you are."

House blinked in surprise, momentarily forgetting about his pain. He moved his arm so that he had a clear view of Wilson's face. The oncologist widened his eyes innocently and shrugged.

"Sorry. Went over the quota." He leaned over House and reached out to fiddle with something. House noticed an IV drip hanging close by. He brushed impatiently at the stethoscope dangling in his face. Wilson slapped at him with his free hand, artfully dodging away from House's increasingly perkier attacks.

"Is that mine?" House asked.

"We're trying to keep you alive for a little while longer," Wilson explained. He backed away from the bed, readjusting his stethoscope. House momentarily lamented not stealing it. "Are you in a lot of pain right now?"

"No more than usual. Just this flu." House struggled to sit up and grudgingly allowed Wilson to prop him up against the pillows. He halfheartedly tried to pluck a pen from Wilson's lab coat and was rewarded with another slap. This one actually stung a little and House stopped. "I'm sure I'll be fine in a few hours, though."

"Don't be ridiculous. We're running blood work."

"I won't be better because you're running blood work?"

Wilson looked exasperated. "_House_," he sighed.

"OK, so why are you running blood work?"

Wilson frowned then sat back down in his chair. "I just wanted to rule out anything else."

"Is that why I'm in the hospital?" House asked, finally acknowledging his whereabouts. Wilson shrugged again. His noncommittal attitude was slowly beginning to infuriate House. _Save that for your wives_, he thought, but decided against saying it aloud. No point in pissing off the doctor who was pumping drugs into you.

"Cuddy called an ambulance when we went over to check on you last night. You were pretty sick."

"Sick enough to come to the hospital? Was I puking blood?" House grinned. "I remember puking yesterday, but it tasted more like Mexican than blood."

"Nice. You were dehydrated and Cuddy wanted to make sure you didn't die. She kept going on and on about the clinic hours you were going to owe her if she saved your life." Wilson allowed his eyes to go distant as though he were pondering something deep and important.

House snorted. "You reminded her that I wasn't really dying, right?"

"It's Cuddy," Wilson said simply. The two men sat in silence, reflecting on this small kernel of knowledge before their subject of conversation slid open the glass door and walked inside. House instantly remembered the dream that Wilson had woken him up from and felt heat around his ears. Even though there was no possible way she knew about what she was going to do to him, he still felt a little awkward. Even dream interoffice affairs could get awkward.

"He lives," she stated obviously.

House sighed. "What is the matter with you people? You're doctors! You've seen the flu before."

"Shut up about the flu, House," Wilson said calmly and House surprisingly obeyed. Cuddy flipped open the chart she had picked up before coming into the room.

"Are you having any side affects from the antibiotics?"

"I'm on the pill. You don't think I'll get pregnant?" Cuddy didn't miss a beat.

"I don't think God would be so cruel to this world, do you?"

House snorted and pretended to look insulted while Wilson pretended not to be checking out one of the new nurses and Cuddy pretended that she wasn't trying hard not to laugh. They all waited for several moments, wondering who would break this new awkward silence. House didn't disappoint.

"Hey, with the right genes, my kids could rule the world."

"Which is why you should never father a child," Wilson said calmly. He stood up, gracefully maneuvering so that he kept his half eaten salad from House's reach. He leaned over to look at House's chart. "I don't think you'll need to be here too much longer."

House glared at him for a moment, then flung his sheets and blankets away from him. He decided to ignore the unflattering hospital gown he was wearing and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Wilson looked mildly amused and Cuddy reached out to stop him.

"House, lay down."

"I think I'm good to go," House snapped, getting to his feet.

Suddenly, though, standing didn't seem like such a good idea anymore. The world started to fade in and out, blackness distorted the faces of both Cuddy and Wilson. He could feel Wilson hands on his arms, struggling to push him back onto the bed, but he shoved the oncologist away. House managed a couple steps before his legs gave out and he crumpled to the floor.

House could feel Cuddy's cool hand on his cheek and could hear Wilson calling for a nurse to come to help him back into his bed. He opened his eyes to see Cuddy's clear blue eyes looking back into his. She was talking, but once again he couldn't understand what she was saying. He opened his mouth to command her to speak up, but nothing came out.

"Don't try to talk," he heard distantly. "You've probably just fainted."

A needle pricked his arm and House struggled to keep his eyes open as he felt sedatives immediately begin to slow down his brain. Part of him panicked at the unpleasant loss of control. He had mastered that sensation whenever he took Vicodin, so only a high dose would make him feel _high_. However, he hadn't played with sedatives before and the sensation of feeling supremely unconcerned was unnerving.

"Not those…" he murmured, struggling to keep his eyes open. He was already floating away by the time Cuddy's voice came to him.

"Just try to sleep, all right?"

House cracked his eyes open one more time as he felt himself being lifted from the ground. He could feel people pressed in close against his body and would've been upset by all of the attention they were spending doctoring a healthy-ish doctor, but… he didn't care.

"Your office or mine?" he muttered, his eyelid falling shut.

He missed the surprised look on Wilson's face and the confused one on Cuddy's face. Maybe that was a good thing.


	3. Splitting Headaches

**Chapter 3: Splitting Headaches**

"House? How are you feeling?"

House rolled his head to the left, forcing himself to open his eyes. Cameron was seated in a chair inches from the bed. While she looked concerned, he was relieved to see that the light from her messiah complex was gone from her eyes. He swallowed, wincing at the paper dry feeling in his mouth.

"I'd feel better if you could pass me some of that water," he replied, his voice rasping. She nodded and stood up. She reached out with one hand and picked up a small olive green cup with a clear straw sticking out the top.

"How about orange juice instead? You haven't had many fluids recently and you could use something in your stomach."

House tugged lightly on his IV. "So, why you'd put this in me? Do you have a sadistic streak that I don't know about?"

Cameron smiled indulgently, helping him to position the straw in cup so that he could sip at it. He shot her a quick look to see if she was babying him, but was relieved once more to see that she seemed more as though she were simply helping a sick patient than nursing her beloved boss back to health. "If I did have that streak, would I tell you about it?"

"If you get off on that kind of thing, yes."

"Don't worry, you're safe," she reassured him. House swallowed the juice and batted the straw and cup away from his mouth. Cameron set it down on the edge of the bed before sitting back down in her chair. House studied it for a moment, trying to decided whether or not to remind her that there was a good chance it would spill if she left it there. "So?"

House looked at her for a long moment. She was sincerely interested in how he felt and part of him felt bad that she was so invested in his welfare. He sighed.

"I still feel dizzy."

"I'm not surprised. Your glucose level had dropped dangerously low-"

"When I hit the floor?" House asked. Cameron nodded.

"We can't figure out why." House raised an eyebrow. "Cuddy thinks it must've been because you hadn't eaten in a while."

"You don't agree?"

"I don't know what I think," she replied honestly. Her eyes bored into his and House glanced away from her. "How come you didn't call the hospital sooner?"

"Are you really going to start trying to guilt trip me?"

Cameron looked flustered. "No… I was just worried."

House offered her a half-hearted smile. "Well, don't be. Cuddy is already convinced I'm dying and there is nothing I can say to stop her from arranging my funeral. I'd rather not have you helping her to pick out the flowers."

Tucking a strand of thick brown hair back behind her ear, Cameron nodded. House had always found her insanely attractive, but it suddenly occurred to him how much like a little girl she looked. Her bright, attentive eyes and the way she always stood like she was about to run someplace had always seemed to him to be the qualities of good, but overeager young doctor. He was starting to see the little girl who was working hard to please him now and it was almost endearing. Almost.

"What do my charts say?"

"Not much," Cameron reported, looking up as Foreman and Chase entered the room. The two entered the room, each carrying what looked like a stack of paperwork and test results. House smirked.

"I assume those are all mine."

Foreman smiled thinly. "You're not going to look through them until we get a chance to sort through them."

"I'm your_ boss_!" House snapped petulantly. Foreman stared mildly back at him.

"And, you're my patient now. Settle down."

"_Foreman's_ in charge?"

"Actually, I am."

Cuddy was standing in the door, wearing a very nicely cut skirt and what House considered to be a nicely revealing shirt. He sighed.

"Nobody is going to tell me what's going on, are they?"

"Sorry, House," Cuddy replied, not moving from the doorway. "We'll let you in on the differential if it turns out you have some weird, totally obscure disease."

"Which, with my luck, is probably the case." House tapped his fingertips together. "Do you think it's fatal?"

"I think if you keep badgering me, it will be," Cuddy answered sweetly. House smiled.

"Well, at least we're not creating a hostile work environment here."

Foreman coughed. "What symptoms are you experiencing?"

"Oh, you know. Flu symptoms."

"_House_," Cuddy warned quietly. He rolled his eyes.

"Coughing, vomiting, fever… anything else?"

"Loss of appetite?" House raised his eyebrows expectantly. Foreman sighed. "You fainted. I assume you haven't been eating."

"You wouldn't either if it all ended up coming back out the same end you put it in. Mexican happens to be really nasty when it comes back up again."

"That's disgusting," Chase muttered and Cameron nodded slightly. House wanted to laugh. The two were practically an old, married couple.

"Sorry, Chase. I'll wait until you leave to start puking again, all right?"

"That's very thoughtful," Chase agreed. House wondered why he wasn't rising to any of his bait. Of course, House wasn't exactly being very vicious, probably because he felt too sick to bother. He smiled.

"No problem." He looked back to Foreman. "How did the blood tests come back?"

Cuddy opened her mouth to protest, but Foreman cut her off. "Everything looks fine so far, but you are a little anemic. It probably doesn't mean anything, but we're putting an iron supplement into the IV drip."

House nodded. "Anything else in there?"

"Same as there was in there before, House," Cuddy replied. She looked at the team. "Maybe you guys should let him rest for a while."

"Good idea. Want to climb into my bed, Cuddy?" House asked. He took a perverse joy in Chase's involuntary snort of laughter and Cuddy's ever suffering expression. "It's not big, but you can crawl on top."

"Thanks for the invitation, but I'll pass. Maybe you could try hitting up someone in the geriatric ward?"

"That's really sick, Cuddy," House replied, looking as physically disgusted as he could. "You have a perverted sense of humor."

"I learn from the best." She looked back at Foreman meaningfully. "Now, you guys should get out. House needs rest."

House didn't protest anymore as Cuddy shooed his team out of the room nor, he noticed, did they protest. Besides, he was tired and sick and didn't care much for company anymore. He watched in relief as Cuddy shut the door behind Cameron as she followed Chase out. The dean turned to look at him.

"Anything you didn't tell them?" she asked. House shook his head.

"I'm just tired," he said quietly. Cuddy pulled out a small light from her front pocket. He winced as she flashed it into his eyes.

"Any head pains?"

"I have a headache," he admitted, but quickly shifted away from her as she tried to examine his head further. "I think it's just from everyone prying at me since I got here. When are you going to release me?"

Cuddy's arms fell to her sides in defeat. "Why can't you just admit that you're sick?"

"Are you scared?"

Neither doctor spoke for several moments as Cuddy stared into House's eyes. He could tell by the way her eyes shifted away from his to the floor that she was concerned. He had spent enough time with Cuddy to be able to tell when she was worried. He considered reaching out to touch her arm, but decided against it.

"Have you found anything that I should know about?" he asked. Cuddy looked back up and shook her head quickly.

"No, not yet."

"Yet?"

"I don't know," she replied shortly. "Will you please just let me examine you?"

House didn't move away from her as she raised his eyelids to look carefully into his eyes, looked into his ears and nose, then began to gently touch his face. He could tell the stubble on his face was tickling her fingers by the way she set her mouth like she didn't want to laugh.

It wasn't until she pressed onto his temples that House objected. Immediately, a shot of pain coursed through his head and House let out a gasp. Cuddy instantly moved back, her mouth dropping open as House clutched at his head in pain.

"What happened?"

"What did you _do_ to my head?" he demanded. It was positively throbbing now. He closed his eyes tightly against the pain, trying to think straight. He struggled to sit up while still holding his head. "Oh, my _God_…"

"Try to calm down," Cuddy soothed, sounding panicked. "I can get you some pain killers."

"_Don't_," he gasped and grabbed her wrist roughly. The green cup Cameron had used to give him juice clattered to the floor, spilling orange liquid across Cuddy's obviously expensive black heels. Cuddy stifled a startled gasp of her own. "Just figure out what _the hell_ is going on with me."

"You have to let go of me first," she whispered and House managed to crack open his eyes to look at her. She looked frightened and her fear began to spread to him instantly, as though just holding her wrist was letting it seep from her blood into his own. Then, to his dismay and horror, the edges of her body began blurring into the backdrop of the sterile hospital room. He looked as deliberately into her eyes as he could, trying to ignore the mounting fear as he did.

"You better do it fast, too. My vision is blurring," he told her in as calm a voice as he could muster. Cuddy nodded quickly.

"Nurse!" Cuddy screamed, turning her head towards the door. "I need someone in here _now_!"

House fell back against the bed, feeling weak again. He didn't think he would faint, but he wasn't looking forward to staying awake as several nurses and his team ran back into the room. House closed his eyes once more as Cameron leaned down to look at him.

"Just hold out a little longer," she said, with a sickly sweet reassurance.

House nodded, but felt disgustingly sick with pain as his head felt like it was going to pound itself to pieces.


	4. Despair and Hope

He didn't say much in the next few days, though that didn't stop his team from trying to coax conversation from him. It was one of the few times in his adult life that House found himself struggling to hold back the urge to give in completely to the fear that was closing in on him. He found that the more he talked, the more hysterical his voice would start to sound, at least to his own ears, so he gave up saying anything at all unless he absolutely had to.

House knew that his newly developed silence was making everyone else edgier and perhaps even stirring fear within them as well. Chase had taken up his own silent vigil at his bedside and Cameron's voice became wrought with tension that he had never realized she was capable of. Foreman avoided addressing him as anything but a sick patient and even Wilson would slip into hurt silences whenever House wouldn't rise to the ever increasing banter that Wilson was laying out.

Cuddy, though, seemed the worst. She almost never said anything to him and the only way he knew she was in the room was to listen closely to the tapping that her heels made on the floor. She had taken to tapping her pen on his chart almost nonstop and whenever he did hear her speak, the words were short, crisp, and far more biting than normal. He could picture how her face looked, pulled tight with worry, and he felt more than just a twinge of guilt.

A soft, gentle hand closed over his and House jumped.

"It's just me," Cameron voice said quietly. He relaxed a little and dutifully turned his face away from hers. "Any improvements?"

"No."

"Do you mind if I take a look at your eyes again?"

"No."

"No, you don't mind, or no, I can't look?" she asked, clearly trying to make the tension in the room ease. House shrugged.

"Check them."

He felt her hands on his face, guiding it so that he was facing towards her again. He could feel her hand leave his cheek and heard the soft click that let him know she was turning on the small light she kept in her pocket. She murmured something about just looking into his eyes, but House didn't pay her much attention.

"Well?" he finally asked.

"No change." There was a pregnant pause between them. "I'm so sorry."

"Just leave me alone," he sighed and turned away from her again. He felt no remorse at the soft noise she made nor at the way she hurried from the room, clearly upset.

"You don't have to do that to her," a quiet voice close by said. It was Chase, he could tell. He had grown so used to the younger man's presence that he sometimes forgot that he was even in the room. House sighed again, but didn't say anything. "She's just trying to make you feel better. She's scared."

"_She's_ scared?" House snapped, feeling outrage course through him. "What the _hell_ is she scared of? I'm the one who's _blind_, in case you've forgotten!"

"Of course," Chase replied. He sounded tired and worn down, but House didn't care. "It's always only ever about you, isn't it?"

"This time, yes, it is! I'm the one laying here in this hospital bed with some stupid disease that has blinded me and that I will probably end up dying from, with my shitty luck." House leaned toward where he thought Chase was sitting. "Stop trying to make me feel bad about hating every moment of this. Stop trying to make it seem like everyone else has it worse. Damn it, this isn't about anyone but me!"

"You're such a selfish bastard," Chase hissed through his teeth and House knew that he had clenched his hands into tight fists. "This is just like when her husband died for her. Don't you remember what happened to them?"

"Of course I do, but she's not my wife!" House heard the door slid open and swung his head around to face the newcomer. "Get him the hell away from me."

"Chase, leave."

He heard Chase jump to his feet, could hear his angry breathing, but was relieved when the younger doctor stormed out of the room and didn't say anything to him. The room was deathly still once more.

"What happened?" Cuddy's voice asked tentatively.

House almost forgot to be angry when he realized that it was Cuddy who had shooed Chase away. "He's just trying to make me see the other side of things."

"Don't worry about Chase," Cuddy replied and her heels tapped to the side of his bed. House turned his face as though he were looking up at her.

"What do you mean?"

"This is hard on everyone and while I don't condone Chase's response, I can understand it." Her hands pressed lightly on House's shoulder to lean him back into his bed. House obeyed willingly. "I can have a talk with him."

"Don't. He was only standing up for Cameron."

"So, he does really love her?"

"It would appear that way to me," House replied. "But, then again, I'm certainly no expert on romantic relationships, so don't take my word for it."

"They'd be good for each other," Cuddy replied, a hint of sadness in her voice. "But, anyways. I didn't come in here to talk about your fellows. I want to talk to you."

"I'm still sick and I'm still blind. What else do you want to know?"

"I want to run a diagnostic session."

"I can't even see," House replied, already resisting the idea.

"You don't have to. Your team, Wilson, and I can do all of the research. All you have to do is lay there and think up good diseases for us to check on."

"I'm sick."

Suddenly, her hand was wrapped up in his, her fingers tangled together with his. Her hand was warm and clammy, but House couldn't think of any good reason to pull away from her. In fact, he was alarmed to admit, he rather liked the way his heart started to beat a little fast at her touch. Her breath was on his face, too, and he knew she was only inches away from him.

"You're not going to die simply because you don't want to make the effort."

"Who would even care?" he asked. _You. Say that you would care_, he thought desperately. "I thought I was more trouble than I'm worth."

"Don't be an ass. Stop putting us through this," she whispered and House listened. He nodded reluctantly and traced his thumb in a small circle along her hand.

They sat close to one another, House's heart pounding at the thought her lips so near to his own and wondering why he had never bothered to make a serious move on her before. God, he was going to die without ever admitting that he still cared, even after all of these years…

"Please, House. Let me help you." Cuddy's voice sounded weak. He felt a sudden splash of hot liquid on his hand and instantly knew that she was crying. She cried so often that he knew he shouldn't have allowed that to make any difference, but it did.

"All right." He smiled at the trembling laugh that escaped her lips. "I'll do it, but you are so going to owe me one."

"For saving your life?" she asked.

"For making me help you save my life," he answered, his voice stubborn once more. He wanted to make another grab at her as Cuddy stood and slipped her hand out of his. "Where are you going?"

"To get the rest of your team."


	5. The Name is House

Chapter 4: The Name is House.

"What symptoms does the patient present with?"

"House."

Foreman looked over at the wheelchair House had been hauled very ungracefully into. He looked like he was about to crash face first onto the floor, but noticed that Cuddy had placed her hand on his shoulder in what was clearly a firm and steadying, yet gentle grip. House's face was ashen and his eyes bloodshot, but Foreman had seen that look before. House always looked close to death whenever his Vicodin levels were decreased, which was necessary for him to do since the older doctor was taking a number of tablets over the recommended daily dosage. While a little bit of Foreman was bitterly glad to see House not on the top of his game, he hated to have to pull his drugs from him. Still, though, he wasn't going to be the one signing off for House to take as much Vicodin as he pleased. Wilson could take over if House really needed to have all of his narcotics.

"I'm sorry?" Foreman asked, trying to pretend that he hadn't quite heard House instead of suddenly acknowledging that he had been acting like the ailing doctor wasn't even in the room. Chase's eyes darted quickly from Foreman to House then back to the cup of coffee in his hands. Cameron straightened up even further in her seat and stared resolutely at the whiteboard.

"Stop referring to me as 'the patient,'" House replied in a very calm, very uncharacteristic tone. "My name is Gregory House. Well, that's what it says on my birth certificate, and that's what my father still calls me." He smiled in a mockingly wistful manner. "But, Mom still calls me her little boy. Oh, but most people that can stand me, and, let's not play games, we know there are precious few of those people left on Earth, call me Greg. Everyone else calls me House and, yes, by the way, I am still in the room."

"Sorry," Foreman mumbled. He capped the whiteboard marker without thinking.

"Don't even think about letting Chase or Cameron touch the whiteboard," House snapped. "They'll probably just stand up there writing their names inside little hearts and gushing about how happy they are to have finally found another human being insane enough to tolerate them."

House was prepared to go on. He had bottled this up for nearly a week now. For a week, he hadn't said much and hadn't flown off the handle at anyone's incompetence. In fact, he hadn't even felt much desire to yell at anyone or crack an inappropriate joke. Now, crowded into a room with his fellows, Cuddy, and Wilson and to have them all discuss what was wrong with him was enough to throw him over the edge.

Cuddy's fingers squeezed his shoulder ever so slightly and his mouth snapped like he was a puppet. He wanted desperately to turn around and look up into her face, but he didn't even bother to move due to his current situation.

"Flu-like symptoms," Cuddy said softly, interrupting the flow of angry tension between Foreman and House. Both men seemed to deflate a little. Foreman uncapped the marker again and scribbled Cuddy's words onto the whiteboard.

"What else?" Cameron asked.

"Sensitivity of the face," Wilson offered.

"That's an understatement," House scoffed. He could easily imagine Wilson rolling his eyes up towards the ceiling, asking for patience. House supposed that was the only way Wilson could continue to be his best friend- he always had to ask for unending patience. "My face felt like it was going to explode."

"Pressure?" Cameron asked.

House shook his head. "Not as much as I would've thought."

"You suspect something already?" Chase asked, his voice sounding eager for the first time in the last week.

"No… I just thought that facial pain like that would've had more pressure underneath it."

"What else?" Foreman demanded and House found himself feeling a panicky urge to answer him instantly. Instead, he restrained himself and let Cameron answer again.

"Anemia. Low blood sugar. Fainting spells."

"Let's not forget the fact that he's blind," Cuddy spoke up suddenly. House winced at the word 'blind' and felt Cuddy's hand squeeze his shoulder again. This time it was a reassuring squeeze. House suddenly felt weak.

"I think I'm done," he said.

"Don't be ridiculous," Wilson replied. "You're not dying."

"No, I'm done here. I need to get back into bed," he admitted. He may not have been able to see his team's faces, but he could picture the concerned looks that were shared between them.

"Is something happening?" Wilson asked.

"No…" House looked around him, knowing that he couldn't see, but unable to stop the natural reflex. His hands twisted into the scratchy hospital gown he had been forced into. "I just want to lay down…"

"That's it, then," Cuddy declared. She leaned down so that her mouth was next to his ear. "Let's get you back into bed."

"You're coming along, then," he asked weakly. He didn't think that Cuddy heard him because immediately after he said those words, Cuddy was instructing his team on what they should do now that their general was out of commission.

He closed his eyes now that he didn't have to pretend to be listening to anyone. He had refused any glasses or patches that would've blocked his eyes from everyone else. The idea of not being able to look someone in the eye, even if it wasn't even looking since he couldn't see a thing, was something that made him uncomfortable. After years of being terrorized by his father, House found that using his icy gaze to intimidate others was immensely satisfying.

Time flew by quickly and House abruptly found himself being tucked into his hospital bed. It had been made the way he liked it, loose at the end, after he had gotten into a heated arguments with one of the nurses who was looking after him.

"You can go now," Cuddy told the two nurses who had helped him into his bed. "I've got it from here."

They both waited until the doors slid shut before doing anything. Cuddy sat down on the bed next to him and he knew that she was watching his face. House reached down half-heartedly.

"I'm cold," he reported. Cuddy laughed.

"Sorry. Want me to crank up the thermostat in here?"

"Are you kidding? Do you know how much money it would cost the hospital if each room had its own thermostat? The paperwork alone would kill you!"

Cuddy slid the sheets up to his shoulders, brushing cool fingers against the bare patch of skin that the gown had slipped off of. She either didn't notice the touch or chose to ignore it because she leaned back down to adjust the blanket as well. House shivered. Why was he suddenly becoming so madly attracted to Cuddy now? He had always harbored a crush on her, but it was becoming much more than that at an alarmingly fast pace.

"Is that better?" House nodded. "All right, then. I need to get back down to the clinic. Foreman has offered to cover your hours down there and, unlike you, is actually doing his job. I don't have nearly as much work to do down there, but I still need to make sure one of the patients hasn't burned it down."

House let her stand up. He even let her turn so that she was facing the door. He even went so far as to allow her to take several steps towards the door. Suddenly, he heaved himself forward on the bed and grabbed frantically at where he supposed her wrist was. He found her hand in his, cool and calming now, and allowed her to push him back onto the pillows.

"What's going on?" she demanded urgently.

"Stay with me," he pleaded, bending his face down towards the bed so that she wouldn't see his face. "Please. I'm…" He couldn't bring himself to say that he was scared. Terrified out of his mind. That her presence made his frantic brain slow down and calm.

"I can spare some time," she allowed, her voice careful. He recognized that tone immediately.

"I'm not messing with you," he said quickly. "I'm not trying to get you into bed with me, although, admittedly, you already are."

"It's OK. I'll stay in bed with you for a while," she said.

House raised his face and opened his eyes, desperately struggling to look into her blue eyes. He hated not knowing what she was thinking. But, the way she lowered herself back onto his hospital bed was comforting enough. He even remained silent when she nudged him over so that she could lay down lengthwise next to him.

"This isn't like you," he reported, matter-of-factly. Cuddy shrugged.

"I know. But, this is the third time you've tried to die on me now." Her hand closed over his. "I can't go through another 'will House live or will House die' episode again. Not without being with you for it."

"You were there the last two times," he said.

"No. Stacy was there when you had the infarction. And Cameron helped nurse you back to health when you were shot, even if you tried to scare her off." Her head snuggled against the pillow and House knew that she was hurting, even if he couldn't read it clearly in her expressive eyes. "I've always been in the background. I've never let myself be close enough to you that I was in the foreground."

"But… you've _always _been there."

Cuddy laughed then, her breath puffing air that smelled of cinnamon rolls and slightly stale coffee into his face. House closed his eyes again, savoring the sweet smell of her. "You're such a stubborn bastard. You know that, right?"

"I've been told that a few times, but I refuse to believe it," he answered. "You're in the front seat now."

"Yes," she agreed. "And, I'm not going to let you die if I have anything to do with it. The clinic hours alone you owe me would just make things worse."

"I have to live so I can do those idiotic clinic hours, Cuddy?"

"No," Cuddy said softly. "You have to live so that you will stop calling me Cuddy."

"What?"

"Lisa. My name is Lisa."

And, her lips were on his, sugary sweet and tasting sinfully of something he shouldn't be doing with his boss. Yet, here they were. Kissing, tentatively, and with nothing besides their lips touching.

House hadn't felt more electrifyingly alive in years.


	6. Breaking Down and Breaking Up

When House awoke the next morning, he wasn't as pleasantly smug as he knew he ought to be. In fact, he was feeling lower and even more worn down than the night before. His whole body ached with tight, stiff pain that wasn't nearly as sharp as the pain in his leg, but a pain he knew would drive him crazy if it persisted. He opened his eyes and struggled for a moment when he met only darkness.

With a grunt of aggravation, House heaved himself less than gracefully into a sitting position, patting the side of the bed expectantly. He didn't know what he was expecting to find there. He knew it wouldn't be Cuddy- no, _Lisa_- because she had slid off the bed moments after their lips had met, her breath coming out of her in little funny, adorably hot gasps. He had tried to pull her back for more, because, he admitted to himself, after years of only hookers and one night stands, the idea of a real relationship with a woman who wasn't named Kandi was one he rather liked. Of course, it made it all the better that Cuddy- _Lisa_- wasn't already wrapped up in another relationship and cared about him despite the fact that she actually had spoken to him before.

House pretended to be rearranging his blankets when the door slid open and the sounds of sneakered feet squeaked across the floor.

"Maria, or whatever your name is, remember what I told you about making this bed?" he snapped, knowing that his voice contained a lot less malice than it usually did. In fact, he could practically pass for a happy, normal person. If he were so inclined, of course. "Loose sheets! Loose-o sheets-o!"

"No wonder the nurses love you," a decidedly masculine, decidedly Wilson voice greeted him. "Your gentle nature and compassionate understanding make you an excellent man to work with."

"Maria, you didn't tell me you had a sex change!" House gasped. "But, I've got to tell you, you might want to tell your doctor that you want your voice to sound more macho. I can write out a note to tell him that I still think you sound like a girl."

"But, you can't see anything, so how would you find the paper to write the note?" Wilson asked in a much higher voice, which he clearly thought sounded more like a girl. "I've only got pens on me."

"Bend over, sweet cheeks, and I'll write it on your ass," House retorted gleefully.

"Are we interrupting something?" an actual female voice asked.

"I don't want to watch House write anything on Wilson's ass," a male voice cued in.

"I don't want to watch House anywhere near Wilson's ass," a second male voice said.

"Can we get off of the topic of my ass, please?" Wilson finally asked, and House knew he was starting to blush.

"Oh, I'm sure a lot of people would like to get off _on_ the topic of your ass," House chipped in.

"Ew, I _knew_ we were interrupting something," Cameron groaned. "Can we just come back once you two are finished with your weirdly gay banter?"

House flushed indignantly. Where was Lisa- yes, _finally_- when he needed to prove to his fellows just how masculine and macho he was?

"We're not weirdly gay," he sulked and he knew that Chase and Foreman were rolling their eyes to one another, glad that he couldn't see them. "And, even if we were weirdly gay, that would be considered harassment towards our sexual orientation and I could have you sent to sensitivity classes."

"I heard sexual harassment," House's new favorite female voice chimed in. "I figured we'd be talking about House, so how much is it going to cost me to keep you quiet?"

"For once, it really wasn't me."

"_Right_." There was a sound of papers rustling and the click of a pen. "So, where are we today?"

"His labs are coming back normal except for the anemia," Foreman reported. "His blood sugar is back to normal."

"He looks thin," Chase said suddenly.

"Two weeks of hospital food will do that to a person," House snapped. He didn't feel thin. Just a sick, exhausted, and now in an even more charmingly generalized pain. "It's better than Atkins."

"Do you want to weigh him, Dr. Chase?" Lisa asked, seeming to ignore House's jab at the state of the hospital's food.

"I haven't had any significant weight loss," House protested immediately. "Besides, you're not weighing me."

"Don't be ridiculous," Lisa replied before Chase had a chance to start arguing. "We're here to help you. Let us do our jobs, OK?"

"No," House snapped, losing more of the precious little patience that his good fortune the night before had granted him. He hated when people tried to take advantage of him and, good intention or not, he wasn't about to be bullied around by the people that _he_ was supposed to be bullying. "I said no."

"House, please, it will only take a minute," Cameron jumped in, her tone set on 'sweet mother duckling.'

Feeling like a stubborn child, House scowled angrily. "Don't any of you people ever listen to me?" He sat still, waiting for an answer, but the entire team was silent except for their breathing. It was starting to unnerve House that he couldn't see their faces, couldn't judge their emotions or thoughts. He suddenly felt an alarming sense of panic begin to set in. He had said no, but they weren't _listening_ to him. If he could just _see_, he wouldn't feel so damn helpless, but he was trapped in the darkness.

_Again. Just like when I was little_, he traitorously thought and flinched at the unspoken words. He was in the dark once more and now he had even more people to worry about and fight off. His heart began to race in his chest and he could hear his pulse rush through his ears as adrenaline shot through his body. He clenched his jaw as tightly as possible, praying that he could calm himself without anyone noticing this uncharacteristic loss of control.

The moment he felt a hand on his bicep, he completely lost any self-control he had left. His world cracked down the middle and he did the first thing he could think of.

"No!"

His arm moved like it had little to do with the rest of his body. If he had been thinking a little more clearly, he probably would have jerked it away from the hand that had grabbed him. Instead, his arm flew in an angry arc, connecting in a painful burst with what he knew to be another person's jaw. He heard the grunt of surprise as his assailant-turned-assailed stumbled backwards and knocked against the machines hooked up to House's body.

House nearly screamed in pain when the IV ripped unceremoniously from the back of his hand. He clasped it against his chest as the rest of the people in the room burst into a noisy array of movement.

"Foreman, are you all right?" Chase demanded as Cameron asked the exact same question of House. House struggled not to wince or reveal any outward sign of pain as he felt blood start to trickle slowly down his arm.

"Hit me and I'll hit you back," Wilson warned before pulling House's hand from his chest and applying pressure to the wound. House bit his lip, struggling with himself not to lash out at Wilson. Maybe he would make good on his threat and maybe not. Still, even with adrenaline pumping relentlessly through his body, he had enough wits about him not to do anything as rash as to try and punch Wilson in the face. Instead, he hissed slightly at the stinging burn where the IV had been ripped from his skin, and let Wilson try to staunch the bleeding.

"I'm fine," Foreman insisted and House could tell that he had done more than just annoy the younger doctor. Despite the fact that this time it really had been an accident, almost, House felt worse than he had felt when he had punched Wilson and, surprisingly, even more than when he had punched Chase. "Really, guys. I'm all right. Check on House."

"It's superficial," Wilson replied quickly. House wanted to thank him for that, but knew it wasn't even expected at an internal level. Instead he bowed his head a little and closed his eyes tightly. He tried to force himself to breathe through his nose, as well, knowing that if they caught him panting, they'd demand more tests to run. Maybe they'd even question whether or not the disease was affecting his mind, if it was clearly making him act so irrationally.

"You should get that cleaned out and see if it needs stitches," Lisa said to Foreman in an infuriatingly calm voice. When no sound except a lot of angry, heaving breathing reached House's ears, she spoke a little louder. "Chase. Take Dr. Foreman downstairs to have that checked out."

"I'll go with you," Cameron said and House wasn't too surprised that her voice sounded a little fearful. While she had never really backed down when he was angry, yelling, _screaming_ at her and the others to follow his orders, he had always noted the hint of suppressed fear radiating through her. It had always impressed him the way she could hold firm even when she was clearly nervous or even frightened, but now it just annoyed him. He was even more the invalid than ever. "Foreman…"

"All right," Foreman barked and turned away from the bed. House could hear Lisa start to rearrange the machines beside House's bed as his fellows left the room.

"I hate this," he said, his voice straining with every syllable. It was a struggle to keep from screaming this at her, but he managed it somehow. Slowly, very slowly, his heart rate was beginning to slow down.

"Do you want me to take over?" Lisa asked Wilson and the question wasn't really a question, but a command. House could feel Wilson's hand tighten and press down harder on his own and let out a faint groan of pain.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm not a fucking child!" House finally burst out, any semblance of control gone. His body was trembling from the fear and rage that he could no longer suppress. "And, I'm certainly not either of your children! God, Jimmy, just get the hell out of here already!" He could hear a faint, exasperated sigh from Lisa. "You, too, Lisa!"

"Lay down!" she snapped back. "Just lay down, shut up, and act like a civilized human being for once!"

"I don't have to take this! I don't even _need_ to be here!"

It took a lot of effort and the last of his energy for House to throw Wilson off of him, fling the covers off his legs, and stagger to his feet. The stiffness in his body allowed his to only rise in a hunched fashion and the flare of pain from his thigh literally knocked him off his feet. House crumpled to the ground with a gasp of pain, not even caring anymore when Wilson was immediately beside him, trying to staunch his bleeding hand again while making sure that he hadn't just hurt himself.

"James, please," Lisa said, her voice shaking. "Help him back into bed."

"Don't touch me," House snapped, and was relieved when Wilson did nothing to get him into the bed again. He struggled with himself to try and stop the way his body was shivering now. He felt like he was going insane.

"James…"

"Here," Wilson said, his voice the calmest one House had heard in what seemed like forever. It almost felt good to hear. House wanted to ask him to just keep speaking in his slow 'patient' voice and soothe him into normalcy again. "Just make sure the bleeding has stopped." He took House's other hand and pressed it firmly over the gauze covering his right hand. "I'm going to go."

"Wait-"

"I'll be outside if you need me," Wilson said and left before either of the other two doctors could protest.

House shook his head as Lisa finally knelt down in front of him, trying to take his hand to examine it. "No."

"What are you _doing_?" she finally asked. House flinched at the flare of anger in her voice, but manage to cover it by violently shaking his head. "Why are you making this so damn difficult?"

"It's not _me_, it's _you_!"

"Oh, nice, House. That's usually the line _you_ use to break up with someone, not something to use on a doctor treating you." When he refused to respond to that, she tried to take his hand again and once more he denied her. "Do you want to die or something? Is that why you're trying to make treating you look like hand to hand combat?"

"I meant_ us_," he shouted and instantly was sorry.

The air seemed to become chilly between them as Lisa snatched his hand and jerked it a little harder than necessary towards her. He didn't try to pull back, but didn't will his muscles to loosen so that it would be easier to examine. Admittedly, it was hard to do anyways because of the stiff pain in his joints and the shaking he was still battling against. They sat in rigid silence before Lisa spoke again.

"You didn't mention that you were in pain." House turned his face away from hers, knowing that he probably looked like a petulant, angry child and not really caring anymore. "Pain in your hands, I mean."

"It's mostly stiffness," he said, putting his best professional voice on and failing at it miserably.

"Bullshit." She let him pull his hand back away from her. He clamped tightly around it like it was an anchor to keep him from drowning in what he knew was about to come. "I'm starting you on ibuprofen immediately."

"Fine."

"There shouldn't be an _us_ here," she said quietly and House's stomach clenched. "It would be too unprofessional."

"Here is the only place I'm going to be," House said, voice empty of emotion. She didn't even care enough to wait until some other time to say this?

"I… I'm sorry I told you. It would've been better if I hadn't."

"What?" He hadn't quite expected that.

"Maybe once there's someplace else-"

"We haven't even gotten started and you're _already_ breaking up with me?"

"No! I'm not! I just-"

"So, what? This was some kind of _experiment_? To see what it would be like to be close to the dying guy?" he spat angrily.

"Greg, please. Please, don't say that."

He could tell she was hurting, but barreled on anyways. He was an expert on sabotaging relationships and he had a sinking feeling that he wouldn't be able to stop himself, even if he tried to. He just let the train jump the tracks.

"You should've just asked Cameron. She's an expert. She knows what it's like to kiss dying guys, too. You two have that in common. Maybe you ought to just start a club. The 'I Fucked A Terminally Ill Patient Club,' only you can't be a full member for obvious reasons."

She didn't say anything this time. There was only the sound of her breathing through her mouth, obviously trying to control herself.

"You should've just left me out of this. I'm just a sick cripple. I'm not really big on being the guinea pig in social experiments, anyways."

"Greg…" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Oh, just get away from me. Go fuck Wilson if you're interested in the dysfunctional, adorably hurt doctor, all right?"

He barely heard her stand and fly to the other side of the room, the rush of blood in his ears was so loud. He had barely heard a word of what he had said towards the end anyways, so he didn't care if her heels were unsteady as they raced out the door. He almost didn't even hear Wilson, except that Wilson painfully hauled him to his feet and addressed him in a very matter of fact voice.

"Why do you have to destroy every relationship with every person you've ever met?"

"Fuck off, Jimmy," House replied, suddenly exhausted. He felt himself slump against Wilson, even though he wished he could've stopped himself. He was grateful when Wilson caught him with gentle hands and more or less put him back into the hospital bed.

"I'm really impressed this time," Wilson said. House clamped his hands over his face, wishing he didn't have to hear this, but knowing that Wilson would make him. "You really fucked things up."

"Go away," he pleaded. He was too weak to stop Wilson from rearranging the sheets and blankets over him, in just the way he liked. He wanted to hate him for doing that, but couldn't muster the strength to do anything about it. He stopped bothering to even care when Wilson adjusted the pillow under his head.

House turned his head towards the window and wanted nothing more than to be able to stare outside as Wilson called a nurse into the room. The oncologist instructed his nurse to give him a proper bandage and start a new line in his other hand.

Exhausted now that the adrenaline rush had worn away and too full of pain to care, House let his eyes fall shut as Wilson left the room. He found himself in a sleep that offered him little rest before the nurse even had time to take the old gauze off his hand.


	7. Lightbulb

**Chapter 7: Lightbulb**

When Wilson showed up for work the next day, it was painfully quiet in the hospital. It appeared to him that House had gone back to his silent, brooding mode and Cuddy had switched into overdrive. Wilson managed to corner her as she stood waiting for the next elevator, her right foot tapping with an almost manic impatience.

"How is he?"

"Just the same as always," she almost spat out and focused her eyes back on the paperwork she was carrying. Wilson paused a moment before continuing.

"Look, we both know that he's an ass, right?" Cuddy looked up at him in surprise, then almost reluctantly nodded her head in agreement. "He's not going to stop being an ass just because he's confined to a hospital bed. In fact, he's always been at his worst when he's sick or in pain."

"Yes, I know." Cuddy slapped at the elevator buttons. "Is this broken or something? I need to get up to the fifth floor."

"Are you listening to me?" Wilson asked. Cuddy glared back at him.

"Yes, and I don't want to talk about him. I have enough to deal with right now without dealing with House's emotional crap. He needs a psychologist to talk to him, not me."

Wilson wanted to agree with her and assure her that she was absolutely right. Only, he just couldn't do it. Instead, he let out an exasperated sigh and leaned against the wall in front of Cuddy. She eyed him suspiciously.

"You know House," he said quietly, then held up a hand before she could jump in. "And, you know how he is. And, you still got involved."

"Amazingly enough, Dr. Wilson, even I make some stupid mistakes," she said quickly. She turned her glare back on the elevator, made a fist, and slammed it sideways against the buttons. The down button lit up. "Damn it! I'm going to take the stairs."

She strode away from him as the elevator doors opened.

"The elevator's here," Wilson called, knowing she wouldn't come back and knowing that she'd use it as another reason to be angry with him. Even though House had hurt them both, countless times, that didn't mean that Cuddy wouldn't still take his silence as some misconstrued attempt to protect House.

She pretended not to hear him as she began to climb five flights of stairs in heels that were never meant to be climbing any amount of stairs.

Wilson watched her go. A woman standing in the elevator coughed.

"Are you getting on?" she asked. Wilson nodded.

"Sorry. Sixth floor, please."

**7**

House was using the hospital room's TV. He wasn't watching it, for obvious reasons, but was flipping through the channels impatiently, stopping every so often to listen to what was being said. He knew that Chase was in the room with him, even though the younger doctor hadn't announced his presence when he came in. Every time he switched a channel that he had listened to for more than ten seconds, Chase would let out a faint, long-suffering sigh. It was almost enough to make him smile.

His team, excluding Chase, hadn't shown up this morning. There had been different voices, voices of people he assumed to be med students. They had poked and prodded a little, but he had resolutely refused to say a word. Eventually, they left and Chase had come into the room. House didn't bother to say hello, or even acknowledge that his protégée was in the room.

On his third trip around the channels, the door to his room slid open and House perked up mentally even though he remained slumped in his bed. The footsteps were familiar, even if he couldn't quite place them.

"I brought lunch," the newcomer said and House smiled weakly.

"Thanks," he said, accepting the bag carefully. It was hot, which was a good thing. It was probably a very forbidden fast food, no doubt smuggled into the hospital by an expert. Cameron turned to face Chase.

"Yep. Here, Robbie."

House hid his grin as he pretended to rummage helplessly through the bag. He could tell that Chase and Cameron were exchanging their lovebird gazes, full of gushy feelings that House was glad not to have. At least, that's what he kept urging to himself to think. Eventually, his fingers found and closed around what was a deliciously hot French fry and he pulled it out of the bag quickly.

"Good girl, Cameron," he said quietly as he stuffed the contraband into his mouth and savored the taste of grease on his tongue. When he got out of the hospital, he planned on eating so much fast food that he fall into a food induced slumber and sleep through the rest of the day. It was a good, if unhealthy, plan.

"Do you mind if I check you over?" she asked suddenly. House nearly choked on his French fry, the desire to laugh out loud was so strong.

"You brought me a burger and fries as a bribe, didn't you?" he asked, delighted that she had taken such measures to trick him into being a good, calm patient. He nodded. "Go for it."

She went through the usual tests, then checked his eyes and hand carefully. He felt a slight dip in the mattress as she seated herself at the end. He could almost hear the wheels turning in her head.

"I don't _get_ it," she finally admitted. "This is completely ridiculous. Nothing is adding up!"

"Nothing ever adds up," Chase reminded her through a mouthful of food. House unwrapped his burger while they spoke. "That's what this job _is_."

"I know that," she snapped, then cleared her throat. "I mean, what are we overlooking? Isn't there something we're missing?"

"You'll find it in the autopsy," House said, trying to crack a joke. For some reason, having Cameron and Chase together in the room was starting to put him a little more at ease. It was almost like things were normal with the two of them gently bickering with one another.

"Stop it!" Cameron snapped and he stopped halfway through a bite into his burger. "If you say one more thing about you dying, I'm just going to kill you myself, OK?" Her voice was higher than usual and he could almost see the frustrated, angry look on her face.

Carefully, House finished his bite. He chewed for a moment, hoping that the couple of seconds it took to chew and swallow his bit of cheeseburger would lessen the wrath of Cameron. "Yes, Mom," he said quietly, voice full of remorse. He heard Cameron sigh and felt her shift back into a more relaxed sitting position.

"Moving on," Chase said in an overly cheerful voice, "let's talk about what we could possibly be missing."

"We could do another CAT scan," Cameron suggested, her voice a little strained. House could tell that she was still smarting from his last remark and smartly kept his mouth shut. "Maybe an MRI and some X-rays, too. Maybe we'll find something in there."

"House?" Chase asked and House sat quietly for a moment.

He didn't especially favor the idea of any of those tests, but he could also tell that he had pushed his fellows to the limit, if Cameron's remark was any indication. Plus, he hadn't even heard Cuddy's voice anywhere near his room since yesterday. He couldn't bring himself to ask for her to come in so that he could apologize. In fact, he couldn't even bring himself to apologize to Foreman, who had stood outside his door briefly that morning to check his chart, then had left without a word. Perhaps playing the compliant patient would almost as good as apologizing. For now, at least.

"Go ahead," he agreed. "It's not like I'm going anywhere."

"I'll get you in there by this afternoon," Cameron promised. "Cuddy will let me move some other people around to get you in."

_Don't count on it_, House thought.

"This is good," he replied instead, holding out his food and pretending to examine with his now useless eyes. "Where did you get this?"

Cameron was clearly startled by the abrupt change in topic, but had enough grace about her to avoid stumbling over it. She cleared her throat, shifted once, then twice on the edge of the bed, then sighed. He knew just as well as she did that Cuddy was not a good topic of discussion at the moment.

"The diner just down the street."

"Ah. It's still good, though."

"I should hope so. I paid almost $10 for each lunch," she said, sounding exasperated.

"Here, let me pay you back," Chase said quickly. House heard him leave his chair as he pulled out his wallet and began to fumble through it.

"No, it's fine."

"Cameron, come on."

House tuned out as they began to bicker again about who was paying for their grease filled lunches. Maybe Wilson would turn up for one of the tests. He was fairly certain that the oncologist would at least listen to what he had to say, even if he refused to relay the message. House just had to get it out of himself.

**7**

"OK, hold you breath," Chase instructed House.

Cameron was sitting next to him, staring resolutely at the screen that were showing images of House's brain. Foreman was standing near the door, a scowl on his face.

"Why does he always have to be such a bastard," he asked nobody in particular. "I mean, we're only trying to save his life, right? _God_. It must be nice to have no conscience whatsoever."

"Stop," Chase said gently as Cameron began to visibly tense. "Just drop it, all right? He's an ass, everyone knows it, so let's just move on. All right?"

Foreman glanced between Cameron and Chase for a moment, then sunk down into a chair, looking tired and defeated. "Yeah, I know." He stared at the screen for a moment. "Anything there?"

"Everything looks normal," she replied, then laughed. "Well, as normal as House's brain undoubtedly is."

Foreman awkwardly shared the laugh with her before both fell into uneasy silence. Chase pulled the microphone closer to his mouth again.

"Just a couple more. How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine," House replied, his voice tinny and weak coming from the speaker. Chase turned to face the screen.

"Hold your breath," he instructed again.

The machine whirred and clicked and another image popped onto the screen. Cameron stared at the image for a long before she suddenly let out let out a choked cry and jumped to her feet.

"Oh, my God," she gasped, her eyes wide with excitement.

"What?" both Foreman and Chase demanded at the same time.

"I know what it is!" She slapped her hand down onto the counter, causing the other two doctors to jump in surprise. "I can't _believe_ I didn't think of it before. I'm such an idiot!"

Foreman shook his head. "You and the rest of us. What's going on?"

"It's just so unlikely, but like you said, Chase, the job _is_ looking for the unlikely." She brushed her hair back from her face and knotted it at the base of her head without a hair tie. "It just didn't even occur to me before."

"What?" Chase asked gently, aware that her vague speaking was driving Foreman crazy.

"I can't explain it right now," Cameron replied, her voice sounding more and more like a child's on Christmas day. She plucked her notebook from the counter and started scribbling in it frantically, apparently forgetting that the other two doctors were in the same room.

"Cameron, I will kill you if you refuse to tell what the hell it is," Foreman snapped. She waved an impatient hand in his direction, made a couple new notes, then looked up them with a happy grin.

"Get him out of there. I'm going to go have new orders set up at the nurse's station on his floor."

Foreman started to grab the notebook away from her, but she whisked it away from him effortlessly and raced past him out the door. The two men stared after her in disbelief before Chase finally shook his head and turned back to the microphone.

"On second thought, we're going to get you out of there now."

"Why?" House asked instantly.

"I think Cameron thought of something."

**7**

"Dr. Cuddy's office." A pause. "Uh huh. Yes, OK. I'm going to put you on hold. No, only for a moment. Please, hold." The sound of a phone clicking back into its cradle met Cuddy's ears.

"Dr. Cuddy?" her assistant's voice came through the phone next to her desk. She pressed down on a yellow button.

"Go ahead, Jilian."

"I've got Dr. Cameron on line one. She sounds really worked up."

Cuddy felt her stomach twist. "Is something wrong?"

"No, she sounds excited. She's on line one," Jilian repeated.

"OK, thanks." Cuddy picked up the phone, cradled it between her ear and shoulder and answered line one. "Dr. Cameron?"

"I know what's going on!" the younger doctor said with a great deal more enthusiasm than Cuddy had been expecting. "I need you to come down to the nurse's station so that you can confirm it for me. I want to make sure I'm absolutely right."

"Why can't you come up here?" Cuddy asked, starting to feel annoyed at Cameron's vagueness.

"Because, I'm preparing a whole new set of medications for House and I want to make sure he starts them the second he gets back to his room."

Cuddy sighed, then nodded even though she knew Cameron couldn't see her. "All right, I'll be there in a minute."

She hung up the phone and sat at her desk for a moment, brow furrowed in thought. She wasn't quite sure she wanted to see House for a long time now, but she couldn't just ignore him while he lay helpless under the roof of _her _hospital. She groaned slightly, then pushed herself out of her chair.

"Jilian?" she asked as she opened the door into the outer, waiting room section of her office. Her assistant looked up eagerly. "I'm going upstairs to the sixth floor. I'm not going to answer this-" she set her pager on the desk "-while I'm gone, so just jot down any numbers that call."

"Sure," Jilian said in a baffled voice as she took the pager. "What's going on?"

"I think we're finally going to fix House," Cuddy replied and strode out the door and into the hospital without further explanation.


	8. Forgiveness is Divine

**Chapter 8: Forgiveness is Divine**

House had dozed off after being brought back to his room. His team hadn't finished the last couple of scans, but that didn't really mean all that much to him. They had probably seen what they were seeing every single time.

Nothing.

It was frustrating not knowing what was happening to his body, but he had stopped obsessively running every disease he could think of through his head. It only made him tired and gave him a pounding headache. The headaches were occurring more and more often now and he didn't want to give them any reason to start. So, he simply stopped thinking.

It was strange, not thinking so much. Even when he was desperately depressed, he could think comfortably. Maybe his thoughts bordered on the morose, but at least he was still using his razor sharp mind to go through what he cared about enough to let hold his attention.

With all the free time he had not driving himself insane with thoughts of what he could possibly have, he found Lisa Cuddy's face drifting in. Now, as he lay on his too flat, too hard hospital bed, his dream self watched as dream Cuddy approached him.

_They stood in front of one another and stared into one another's for a long time, before House spoke up._

"_Oops, I did it again," he said, immediately appalled that not even his dream self could handle this situation with any tact. He winced slightly as she looked down at the ground._

"_Yes, I know," she said quietly, ignoring the joke and getting straight to what he was trying to say. "And, even though I know why… I just can't figure out why. Does that make sense?"_

_House swallowed. "I don't want to hurt you."_

"_You already have."_

"_More than I have," he replied, frustrated. "You know why I do these things. I don't want you to get involved with me because… I don't know."_

"_You were upset about the whole professional/private lives conflict," she said calmly. "You want me. I know you do. And, I want you."_

"_What if I die?" he asked, his voice suddenly revealing the fear that had been eating away at him the moment he found himself in the hospital. "What happens then?"_

"_Then, you die. And, I'll mourn and be miserable for a while, but I'll get better. You know I'm strong. Don't pretend this is a question of strength."_

_House nodded carefully. "I don't know if I could stand it. Dying, I mean. And knowing that once we're finally totally honest about everything, I'm going to die and leave you here." He held up his hands as she started to reply. "I'm too selfish to die knowing that I'm leaving you behind suffering."_

"_I'll suffer worse if you don't," she replied. House shook his and laughed._

"_God, you're talking Budda or something. Infinite wisdom and that crazy shit. You're starting to weird me out, Cuddy."_

"_That's because I'm not the real Cuddy," she said. "I'm your brain telling you to smarten up and get it together."_

"_What if I can't?"_

"_You have to try. If you do die, you can't leave things the way they are now."_

_House closed his eyes for a moment. "It's going to hurt."_

"_I know."_

"_I don't want to."_

"_I know. You need to, though."_

"_What is she going to say?"_

"_I think you already know that," dream Cuddy said and leaned forward to wrap her arms around him in a hug. "Do what you need to do. Please, Greg."_

"_I'll try."_

"House?"

House opened his eyes slowly, then sighed with tired frustration. "Wilson, is that you?"

"Yeah."

"You're talking to me again?"

"I wasn't ever_ not_ talking to you." House heard him sit down in the seat that Chase usually occupied. "I had patients to look after this morning. You know that."

"I've been an idiot."

"You're figuring this out now?" Wilson asked incredulously. House shook his head.

"I really hurt her."

Wilson cleared his throat, but didn't say anything. House struggled into an upright position, glad that Wilson didn't help him. He had to be able to do something on his own.

"Did she come into work today?"

"She can still work, House. You're not that impossible to get over," Wilson reminded him. House felt his heart sink a little. "But, she is a mess, if that's what you're looking to hear."

"No… will you help me?"

Wilson laughed softly. "You're asking me for help? Wow. That's definitely a first."

"And, it'll be a last if you don't knock that smartass grin off your face."

"Not that you can see it, but, OK. What do you want me to do?"

"Can you bring her here? Or get me to her office? I need to talk to her."

"I can try."

House held his hand out, fingers folding inwards to make a fist. "Bros before hoes, Wilson?"

Wilson tapped his hand. "Maybe hoes this time?"

"Maybe," House acknowledged.

**8**

"It all adds up," Cameron said, leaning over the massive book she grabbed from House's office. "The blindness, the flu symptoms, the pain, everything."

Cuddy shook her head. "He's such an unlikely candidate for temporal arteritis, though."

"That's why it works. Nobody was expecting this or even considering it because he's too young and a man."

"Do you want to do the biopsy first or start on the drugs?"

Cameron considered this as Foreman and Chase joined them at the nurse's station. Foreman slid the book away from her and began to read the page she had opened it to. Chase stood behind him, reading over his shoulder.

"The drugs would start helping him now, but the biopsy would give us an immediate diagnosis."

"Immunosuppressants might make the biopsy more dangerous," Foreman said, nose still buried in the book. "I don't want to compromise his health anymore than it already is."

"He should start treatment immediately," Chase finally spoke up. "He's suffering."

Cuddy stared at the young doctor for a moment before looking away. "Start him on the immunosuppressants. His health is more important than an immediate diagnosis."

"What if Cameron isn't right?" Foreman asked. The other doctors exchanged nervous glances. "What if it is a virus or an infection and by suppressing his immune system, it just makes him an easier target?"

"We're going to need to pray that doesn't happen," Chase said calmly. Cameron looked at him in surprise. "There's not much else to do, is there?"

Cameron shook her head, then picked up House's chart where it had been sitting in front of her on the counter. She scribbled the prescription and signed off on it before handing it to a nearby nurse.

"Don't mention the change in medication," she instructed. The nurse looked at her in surprise.

"Dr. Cameron?"

"I don't want him to get his hopes up if it doesn't work," she explained.

The nurse nodded before walking down the hall and slipping quietly into House's hospital room.

Cuddy let out a long sigh. "I'll help her."

**8**

House was silent as the nurse came into the room. She checked his blood pressure, his pulse, and his blood oxygen level before making notes on his chart. He didn't say anything when she began to fiddle with the fluids which his IV was pumping into him. He just assumed that his saline drip was running low.

Then, the sound of heels clicked into the room. House stiffened instantly as Wilson climbed to his feet.

"Dr. Cuddy?" he asked, clearly confused as well as cautious. House knew he was already growing tired of playing referee. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I don't think so, James," she said softly, no hint of anger or malice in her voice. House didn't let his guard down. "I need to talk to House privately. Besides, Dr. Cameron has something interesting she'd like to share with you."

House could tell that Wilson was struggling with some kind of internal battle as he stood beside his bed. Finally, he heard Wilson sigh.

"All right. I'll see what Dr. Cameron needs." He turned, leaned down, and rested a hand lightly on House's shoulder. "All right?"

"I'm _fine_, Jimmy. Get out of here."

"You're impossible," Wilson replied, a hint of laughter in his voice. "Just try not to kill each other. I don't want to have to call maintenance. They do enough without having to clean up that kind of mess."

"Thank you for that _compassionate_ speech," House retorted. "I'll be sure to pass it on. Now, out!"

"I'm leaving!" Wilson called as he crossed the room and slipped out into the hallway. House waited to hear the click of the door sliding shut before clearing his throat and turning his head towards the end of his bed.

"Hey," he said quietly.

"Hey."

"So… I really screwed this up," he said grudgingly. He twisted his hands around the sheets, balling them up between his fingers and palms. "And, you know how much I hate admitting I'm wrong, so don't make me say it again."

Cuddy laughed gently. "At least you're admitting it. Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"Why are you admitting that you're wrong?"

House groaned. "Come on. Let's kiss and make up?" He puckered his lips dramatically and held out his arms.

"I need to hear it, House."

House dropped his hands back down into his lap and sighed. "Because I want you?"

"Because you want me?"

"Christ, Cuddy! What do you want from me?" he snapped. "It's not like I can drop onto my knees and offer you a dozen roses or something!"

"You'd do that if you could?"

House paused for a moment, assessing the potential danger in that question. Finding it to be fairly low, he nodded. "I think that I would."

"And, what else would you do?"

Cuddy's heels tapped on the floor as she approached him and sank down in the chair that Wilson had just left. House followed her trail with his head, eyes open despite their obvious uselessness.

"I might compose a song for a full scale symphony orchestra and choir, telling you what an asshole I've been." He could practically feel the smile on her face and continued. "I also might buy a Snickers from the vending machine on the third floor."

"What?" Cuddy asked, not bothering to hide her laughter anymore. "A Snickers bar?"

"Well, the slot that they put the Snickers in always drops two candy bars instead of just one. I'd let you keep one."

"That's very chivalrous of you."

"Damn straight it is!" House stopped. This was way too easy. "How come you came up here, anyways? I thought you'd hate me forever."

"I do hate you forever, but I think Cameron's found a way to fix you."

House reached out a hand quickly, hunting in the air for hers. When she captured his hand with her own and rested both back onto the mattress, he sighed with relief.

"And, you think it'll work, too."

"I've never hoped for anything else this badly," she admitted. She squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry I pushed you."

"No!" House snapped so forcefully that Cuddy pulled her hand away from his in surprise. He didn't try to pull her back. "Don't you dare start apologizing to me! I'm the one who's been an ass!"

"You really think you're dying, don't you?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"You only ever say things like that when you think you've reached the end of the line," she answered quietly. House nodded.

"Yeah, I know, but this time, that's not why I'm saying it. You can't say you're sorry because you didn't do anything wrong." He shook his head in frustration. "No, I guess you did, but I did, too. I should've realized that you didn't want to do anything here, but I where else was I going to go? I should've just shut up and-"

"Yes."

"What?" House felt a surge of confusion.

"You should just shut up," she answered.

Then, House felt hands cradling his face. Before he had the chance to say anything else or protest, warm lips were pressed up against his own. He could feel her stand by the way the weight of her lips shifted against his own. Instantly, he strained forward to pull her down closer. He broke the kiss, but didn't pull back from her face.

"I talk too much, don't I?"

"Yeah, you do. Now, shut up again so that we can get back to what we were doing."

House obliged happily.


End file.
